


The Lonesome Crowded West

by GeneralIrritation



Series: The Gotham City Society of Fireproof Women [7]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Bad Jokes, F/M, Fight Scenes, awkward pre-coital conversation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-27 14:44:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21120506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeneralIrritation/pseuds/GeneralIrritation
Summary: Roulette is staging Metahuman fights to the death beneath the deserts of West Texas.  And the only ones who can stop her are those damn Young Justice kids.thegeneralreturns.tumblr.com





	The Lonesome Crowded West

The moon hung heavy over the dark and desolate deserts of West Texas.

This massive and uninviting stretch of woe-begotten land existed far from any sign of civilization. Far from El Paso, Abilene, Amarillo, or Lubbock. This place was home to beasts that bit, plants that scratched, and precious little else. These arid plains rarely even got visitors.

Except for tonight.

Tonight, the headlights of a long white Chevrolet van provided the only illumination apart from that fat, heavy moon in the sky.

The van went slow. It was off-roading, and any number of things could pop the tires.

There was no radio inside this van, so the driver and its passengers had nothing to distract them from their thoughts aside from the creaky jostling of the van itself.

That and the kid singing in the back.

Along the back of the van’s interior, there were two benches with seat belts that could seat three a piece. Tonight, two on the right and three on the left seated five of a potential six.

The one in the middle on the left, the one in a red and beige uniform with a wild corona of light brown hair on his head, was singing a song he’d been fixated on for the past four months.

_“We were at the beach,” _ he sang in a not particularly impressive voice. _“Everybody had matching towels! Somebody went under a dock, and there they saw _a rock!”

The young man sitting next to his left, the one with the black hair and a black t-shirt bearing the crest of the Kryptonian House of El, pinched the bridge of his nose, and said “Jesus H. Christ…”

_“But it wasn’t a rock… It was a _ ROCK! MON-STERRR!”

The driver of the van, a freckled young lady with red hair beneath a cowboy hat, yelled out “BART!”

“What?” Bart Allen asked.

“That damn song wasn’t funny when we fought the Army of Nemesis in Gotham,” Jinny Hex said. “It ain’t been funny in the last four months since then, and it for damn sure ain’t funny now!”

“It’s not my fault you don’t have taste!” Bart said.

The two eighteen-year-old kids sitting across from him, Tim Drake and Harper Row, affixed Bart with a glare. Harper brushed a lock of blue hair out of her eyes, and spoke to the pretty blonde girl in the leather jacket sitting to Bart’s right.

“Can’t you use your lasso to… y’know…_ compel_ him to keep his mouth shut?”

“Diana’s lasso works that way,” Cassandra Sandsmark said, “Mine doesn’t. Mine just shocks people. Bart might actually like that. I dunno. I don’t know how Speedsters work.”

“Because you never ask,” Bart said. “Would it help if I sang _Love Shack? _ I know _Love Shack.” _

The young man to Bart’s left, one Conner Kent, took his head out of his hands.

“How?” Conner asked. “How could you _ possibly _ know _Love Shack? _ That song is older than any two of us put together.”

“How would you know how old it is unless you knew it, too?” Bart asked.

“Because Ma and Pa Kent know it,” Conner said. “They know it because they’re _ old.” _

“And how is it my fault that Ma and Pa Kent are cooler than you are?”

Jinny audibly groaned in the driver’s seat.

The young black woman in the passenger’s side wearing bronze armor, Anita Fite, just shrugged her shoulders like there was nothing she could do.

“Talk to ‘im,” Jinny said. “He’s your friend.”

“He’s your friend, too,” said Anita.

“You’ve known him longer,” Jinny said before stopping the van.

“Something wrong?” Tim asked from the back.

“Seventy-two-point-six miles out, right?” Jinny asked. “That’s what it says here on the odometer after the reset. We’re here.”

* * *

The seven of them sat around the campfire that Tim had set up about twenty feet away from the van.

This collection of teenagers were known as Young Justice. Jinny Hex, Bart _“Impulse” _ Allen, Anita _“Empress” _ Fite, Cassandra _“Wonder Girl” _ Sandsmark, Conner _“Superboy” _ Kent, Harper _“Bluebird” _ Row, and their leader, Tim _“Robin” _ Drake.

They were all sitting around the fire, all in their costumes save for the masks that Robin, Impulse, Bluebird, and Empress wore.

“Why did we have to drive here?” Bart asked. “I could have run here. Cassie could have flown here. Conner could have run _or _ flown here.”

“Because what we’re going up against,” Tim said, “they can detect Metahumans. In fact they’re counting on it.”

“You do realize,” Anita said, “that you haven’t actually told us what we’re going up against. You just called us, got us in the jet, and brought us to the ass-end of nowhere.”

“It’s called _Texas,” _ Jinny said. “I _live _ here.”

“Not only can they detect Metahumans,” Tim said, “but they can subdue and apprehend them. This job was given to us by the League. Not just Batman. The _League. _ And I couldn’t risk disseminating any information among you in the off-chance you were taken.”

Jinny looked at Harper. “He always use big words like _‘disseminate?’” _

“On occasion,” Harper said. 

“I couldn’t say anything until the last possible moment,” Tim said.

“And when is the last possible moment?” Conner asked.

Tim looked at all of them, before he said:

“Right now, apparently. Any of you ever heard of Roulette?”

“Sure I have,” Cassandra Sandsmark said. “It’s the slowest way to make money in _ Fallout: New Vegas.” _

“No,” Tim said, “not Roulette the game…”

* * *

...Roulette the supervillain.

Born Veronica Sinclair, Roulette’s claim to infamy was that she was the proprietor of the various incarnations of an illegal gambling establishment called _ “The House.” _

Roulette’s preferred game of chance, however, happened to be Metahuman fights to the death for the enjoyment and pleasure of wealthy bettors. Using an advanced and top secret teleporting technology, she was able to abduct Metahumans from off the street, or even from their very own homes.

Every couple of years or so, when reports of missing Metahumans spiked, then the superhero community at large knew that Roulette, to use a phrase with which Young Justice was familiar, was back on her bullshit.

The current spate of Metahuman disappearances, however, came to a head two nights before this gathering of Young Justice in the Texas desert.

Eighteen-year-old Maxine Hunkel vanished from the streets of New York City while she was on her way to a Brownstone in Queens.

The problem here being that Maxine Hunkel was not an ordinary teenage Metahuman.

No, she was a member of the Justice Society of America, operating under the codename _“Cyclone.” _ Her power was the manipulation of wind. The Justice Society worked independently of the Justice League, and their presence on the world stage dated back to top secret missions during World War II, shortly after which, the founding members became subject to the same temporal displacement phenomena that brought Zinda _“Lady Blackhawk” _ Blake and Gregory _“Vigilante” _ Sanders to the present day from their native times.

In an interesting bit of trivia, Wonder Woman herself was a member of the Justice Society in their covert efforts to fight Hitler during World War II. Unlike those founding members, however, Diana of Themyscira got to the present day the old fashioned way.

Maxine _ “Cyclone” _ Hunkel herself was the great-granddaughter of one Abigail _ “Ma” _ Hunkel, the original Red Tornado who took to fighting crime on the streets of New York with a pot on her head. She curated the Justice Society museum until her death at the age of eighty-nine.

Alan _ “Green Lantern” _ Scott, Jay _“Flash” _Garrick, and Ted _ “Wildcat” _Grant knew and admired Ma Hunkel back in the old days. That someone would kidnap her only great-granddaughter (and fresh off the heels of the deaths of fellow JSA member Courtney _“Stargirl” _ Whitmore and Albert _“Atom Smasher” _ Rothstein during the Battle of Founders Island in Gotham City four months prior) was a prospect that upset them greatly.

So much so that they would go to any lengths to get her back.

Up to and including asking the Justice League to conscript Young Justice to that end.

* * *

“And that’s why I didn’t want you guys using your powers,” Tim said. “If there’s a way to teleport Metahumans to this _ ‘House’ _ place, then there’s a way to detect Metahuman powers. I didn’t want you guys disappearing before we could formulate a plan. And it’s why I didn’t want you bringing your phones, either. They can track those, too.”

“Which sucks, by the way,” Conner said. “Cass could be texting me right now, and I’d have no way of knowing.”

“So we wait out here?” Anita asked, “Until… what?”

“Batman told me that the League has already sent someone to investigate,” Tim said. “Wherever The House is, how it’s hidden, then that contact is already inside. It’s how we got the coordinates to come to this part of the desert in the first place. The contact gets in a good enough position to strike, they signal us on the holographic communicator that Batman gave me, and we go in. It’s on a special signal that Oracle designed, so there’s no way Roulette can detect it.”

“Who’s the Justice League contact?” Harper asked.

Tim felt his stomach lurch, and his skin grow pallid and clammy.

“Yeah…” Tim said. “About that…”

* * *

Maxine Hunkel had spent the last two days crying in her cell.

She had been walking to the JSA Brownstone in Queens, listening to the original Broadway cast recording of _Wicked _ on her phone, and in the next instant she was in this very cell, surrounded by very tall, very armed men in body armor.

One of them cracked her in the back of the head with their rifle (which hurt _really bad) _ and while she was down, another one placed a metal collar around her neck that stopped her from using her wind powers.

They left her cell, locked her inside, and she cried until she dehydrated herself.

It wasn’t like she could ask where she was, or ask if she could speak to the manager or something. 

So she cried, and cried, and the people in the other cells didn’t seem to care. They didn’t even care enough to tell her to stop crying.

One of Maxine’s quirks was that she talked nonstop about anything that entered her head. It drove Wildcat nuts, it drove Power Girl nuts, and when she was still alive, it drove Stargirl nuts as well. 

But Maxine hadn’t spoken a word in the last two days. Who would she talk to? Just a bunch of unfamiliar faces in this cell block who didn’t give a crap if she cried. And a bunch of guards who would just hurt her some more if she got too out of line.

The only four times she stopped despairing in the past two days was for her twice daily meals. They gave her macaroni and cheese that was too cold, and a bottle of water that was too warm. And with that water in her, she cried some more.

She was sitting on her dingy soiled cot in her cell, silently weeping, when one of the guards, thickly encased in black body armor and holding an assault rifle, came up to the bars of her cell.

“Hey,” the guard said in a harsh whisper. “Come here.”

Maxine almost recoiled into the wall, not wanting to go anywhere near him. What if it was the guy who hit her in the back of the head with his gun? It could have been him, but the black helmet on his head and the black facemask made it too hard to know for sure.

“Come… here… please,” the guard said.

It was the _“please” _that piqued Maxine’s curiosity. She wiped her red eyes, sniffled, and got up, slowly making her way to the bars.

“Is everyone else asleep?” the guard asked in a whisper. “I need to know if they’re asleep. If they’re not, I don’t want to get caught looking.”

Maxine blinked. She looked over both of the guard’s shoulders. The old woman in the cell on the right and the middle-aged man in the cell on the left were both zonked out on their cots.

She nodded.

“Good,” the guard said.

It was at that moment that the weapon the guard was holding seemed to melt and recede into his right arm. The body armor warped, growing in some places and shrinking in others with the sound of sludge being poured down an industrial drain. And that black armor slowly started changing color.

Maxine backed away from the bars, and put her hand over her mouth to stifle any screaming.

What was once a stout, short man in black body armor was now a tall slender one. He was in a clingy red body suit that opened to a v-neck over his chest with black laces criss-crossing it. He had a yellow belt around his waist. His black hair was done ina fifties-style curling pompadour, and around his eyes were a pair of blocky sunglasses with white rims.

“Man,” he said. “The changing color part sucks.”

He took a step toward the bars, and Maxine reflexively took a step back.

“How ya doin’, Cyclone?” he asked. “I’m Plastic Man. Do what I say, and I’ll get you out of here.”

* * *

“Plastic Man?” Jinny asked.

Tim felt himself trying to crawl out of his skin. “Yeah.”

“You have a Plastic Man phobia?”

“It’s not a _ phobia,” _ Tim said. “It’s a common-sense _ fear, _ okay? Plastic Man is scary.”

“I met Plastic Man,” Bart said. “He’s a goofball and a pervert, but he isn’t giving me any nightmares.”

Tim groaned, and rubbed his face with frustration.

“In the Batcave,” Tim said, “there is a series of boxes. In those boxes contain ways to stop every member of the Justice League if they ever opt to go rogue.”

He looked at Conner. “There’s Kryptonite for Superman. This you know.”

He looked at Cassandra Sandsmark. “And for Wonder Woman? There’s a little slip of paper with a command phrase that just shuts her down.”

“What do you mean _‘shuts her down?’” _ she asked.

“Post-hypnotic suggestion. Different from brainwashing. She’s immune to that.”

“Wouldn’t she have to sit down and get hypnotized voluntarily?”

“She’s the second-in-line to the throne of an island city-state that boasts a superpowered navy,” Robin said. “Knowing the stakes, what makes you think she hasn’t?” 

Cassandra Sandsmark looked like she didn’t know what to make of that.

“We have Nth Metal flechettes to destroy Green Lantern constructs, and old Count Vertigo tech to disorient Speedsters,” Robin said. “However…”

Tim leaned in over the fire, letting the flames illuminate his face.

“Do you know what’s in Plastic Man’s box?”

“What?” Harper asked.

“Plastic Man doesn’t _ have _ a box,” Tim said. “Because Batman doesn’t know how to stop him.”

“There _has _to be a way to stop Plastic Man,” said Cassandra Sandsmark.

“Okay,” Tim said. “Tell me. How do we stop him?”

There was a brief moment of contemplative silence, before the other members of Young Justice started throwing them out there.

“Extreme cold.”

“It slows him down,” Tim said, “but it doesn’t stop him. Same thing goes for extreme heat. He can’t melt, and absolute zero doesn’t make him brittle.”

“Mind control.”

“How do you control a brain that _ literally stretches?” _ Tim asked. “Not even Martian Manhunter or Psimon could get a read on him. And his physiology’s so wacky that power dampening doesn’t work on him either.”

“A… nuclear explosion?”

“Batman’s done the math,” said Tim. “So has Mister Terrific. Theoretically, stretch him out wide enough, and he can inflate and contain a nuclear blast with no long-lasting effects.”

“That can’t be,” Anita said.

“But it _is,” _ said Tim. “Mister Terrific doesn’t get math wrong, and Batman doesn’t make mistakes. They’ve even run drills in the event of a meteor strike. He can stretch to the extent that he can fling it back into space.”

They all quieted after that. Once one gets past the nuclear explosion and the meteor strike, every other idea just seems so puny.

“The facts are these,” Tim said. “He can take any shape, any color, any texture, any hardness, any sharpness. And his cells are so elastic that he doesn’t age, which means he’s pretty much immortal. And if he turns evil, then there’s nothing we can do.”

“So why do we keep him around at all?” Bart asked.

“Because it’s like you said,” Tim replied. “He’s a clown and a horndog. All he wants to do is get laid, make people laugh, and save the world on occasion. And if we can’t stop him, the bad guys can’t stop him either. But if something as tenuous as his good disposition is the only thing keeping him from cutting loose and destroying everything, then can you _blame _ me for being afraid of him?”

No one said anything.

“That,” Tim said, “and uhhh… I shook his hand at Batman’s wedding. His hand was… it was _gummy. _ Like he’s actually made of rubber…. Freaked me out.”

“So we just wait for Plas to signal us?” Conner asked.

“Pretty much,” said Tim. “Until then...we just talk amongst ourselves, I guess.”

Another moment of silence, until Bart opened his mouth.

“I heard Plastic Man was going out with Huntress,” he said.

“He is,” said Harper. “Oracle told me about it.”

“What on Earth could a beautiful woman like Huntress want with a cretin like Plastic Man?” Cassandra Sandsmark asked.

“Honey,” said Jinny, “you’re asking what a violent, undersexed Catholic school teacher could want with a man who can grow every part of his body and can’t die.”

“Oh… right… my bad.”

“Speaking gooey love stuff,” said Bart, “you’ve changed since you started going out with Harper, there, Tim. You’re, like… less whiny now that it isn’t as likely that you’re gonna die alone.”

“Isn’t he though?” Harper asked, and kissed Tim on the left cheek, which rapidly reddened as soon as her lips made contact.

“Ugh,” Bart said. “You two are disgusting.”

Harper, apparently taking this as a dare, leaned back over, and took Tim’s left earlobe between her teeth, breathing slowly into his ear as she did so.

A loud blast of soft static played in the head of Tim Drake, rendering him unable to do basic math or even remember his own name.

Jinny laughed.

_“Uggggggggggggh,” _ said Bart. “I hope termites eat your favorite shoes.”

“What is it with you and people dying alone?” Harper asked.

“People who aren’t me dying alone is always funny,” Bart said. “Like references to _A la recherche du temps perdu, _ or poop. Now that Tim’s all happy and gross, I’m laughing a whole lot less.”

He turned to Anita. “At least there’s you!”

Anita shrugged. “I have a boyfriend.”

Every eye around the campfire widened.

“Ya _do?” _ Jinny asked.

“Yeah,” said Anita. “Had him for six months.”

“When do we get to meet him?” Cassie asked.

“Never!” Anita said. “I’m not introducing him to you people! You’re all assholes!”

A murmur of general agreement sounded ‘round the campfire.

Bart turned to Cassie. “At least there’s--”

“Don’t,” Cassie said. “Not unless you want to know what the inside of your own dookie-chute looks like upside down and backwards.”

Bart stopped speaking. Conner laughed at this.

“Wait,” Anita said. “I’ve got a question. You said your girlfriend might be texting you?”

“Yes,” Conner said.

“Cassandra Cain?”

Conner Kent had been dating Cassandra Cain ever since the Battle of Founders Island four months ago. She had even gone to the Kent farm in Smallville for Easter a week back, and from all accounts, Cass was a big hit with the entire Kent-slash-El consortium that they called a family, including Supergirl, Power Girl, and the very pregnant-with-twins Lois Lane. The former Orphan and current Batgirl had been such a fixture in the lives of Young Justice that they’d taken to calling Cassandra Cain _ “Cass” _ and Cassandra Sandsmark _“Cassie” _ to tell them apart.

“Yes,” Conner said again.

“So the girl who can’t read… and can’t write… is _texting _ you?”

“Okay,” Conner said. “First of all, she’s getting better at the whole reading and writing thing. She can get up to _ ‘Hello,’ _ and even remembers to capitalize the H and put a period on the end.”

“She _is _ getting better,” Harper said. “She’s beginning to talk in more complete sentences.”

“And second,” Conner said, “she can still use emojis and she can still send pictures.”

“What kind of pictures is she sending you?” Cassie asked.

“Selfies, sometimes,” Conner said. “But most of the time, she sends me pictures of the henchmen she beats up. She tries to get them unconscious while leaving as few marks as possible. It’s a game she plays.”

Conner started smiling as he said that, and Tim didn’t know if Conner even knew he was doing it.

“Shitfire,” Jinny said. “You talk like a man ain’t seen his lady in a dog’s age.” 

“I just saw her a couple of days ago,” Conner said. “We hung out at the Clock Tower, we watched TV, I went out and bought her tampons, and then I went back to Kansas.”

Bart Allen looked scandalized. His cheeks went beet red, and he covered his ears.

“I’m-not-listening-I’m-not-listening-lalalalalalalalalala…”

“Uh, _dude?” _ Tim asked. “You’ve been out of the CADMUS tank how long?”

“Three years,” Conner said. 

“Right,” said Tim. “Not a whole lot of guys would be as, uh… _ exuberant _as you are about buying a girl tampons.”

“Why not?” Conner asked.

“Most men find it embarrassing,” Anita said.

“But why, though?” Conner asked. “Why would I be embarrassed? Why shouldn’t I be happy that I have a girlfriend who trusts me enough that she asks me to buy her tampons?”

Bart took his hands off his ears, and glared at Conner. “YOU JUST KEEP SAYING THAT WORD!”

And it was at this point that Conner Kent of Smallville, Kansas said the thing that changed the complexion of the rest of the evening.

“She’s my girlfriend,” Conner said, “and I love her very much, and I’ll buy her tampons as often as I damn well please.”

Tim Drake had never been familiar with the sound of silence in the West Texas desert at night, _but by God, he was familiar with it now! _

There were seven people around that campfire. Five of their jaws were hanging open, including Tim’s. Conner was looking around, wondering what the hell just happened.

But Tim’s first instinct was to look at Cassie.

Cassandra _“Wonder Girl” _ Sandsmark burned for Conner Kent. She had since the first moment she laid eyes on him. Despite how she tried to advertise this fact to Conner, the half-human and half-Kryptonian Superboy just never seemed to get it. And now it was too late.

Sure enough, Cassie was looking down, hugging her knees, trying to disappear.

“Conner,” Harper said, “Buddy…”

“What?” Conner asked. “What’d I say?”

“I mean… It’s just… You can’t… How long have the two of you been going out?”

“Four months,” Conner said. “Same as you and T--”

“Right-right-right,” Harper said, trying to cut him off. “Don’t you think… _ iiiiit’s… _ a little _ early?” _

“According to who?”

“Society,” Harper said.

“But it’s true, though,” Conner said. “She told me she loved me, I told her I love her, and because Cass is Cass, she knows I wasn’t lying.”

“I’m just saying,” Harper said, straightening her posture like she did when she got worked up, “some people… at four months… aren’t comfortable telling the people they love that they love them.”

And Tim had to wonder precisely _why _ Harper was getting worked up.

“Why not?” Conner asked.

“Because,” Harper said, “you say that and you don’t hear it back? It hurts.”

“I’m a superhero,” Conner said. “I get hurt all the time. If I say it and I don’t hear it back, it’ll suck, but I’ll get over it. Doesn’t mean I shouldn’t say it in the first place. Just because everyone else isn’t brave enough to call something what it clearly is doesn’t mean it’s _my _ problem.”

“It’s… It’s not…”

“You said so yourself, Harper. Society says that you shouldn’t be that open with your emotions that early for fear of getting hurt. But I’m not afraid. And society is just a bunch of stupid crap someone made up a million years ago.”

“Offspring!”

Cassie said that. It was so out-of-nowhere that everyone stopped to look at her.

She had this look on her face as though insanity itself had tapped her on the shoulder and smiled at her with crooked green teeth, and her brain was overheating trying to stave it off.

“Plastic Man has a son,” Cassie said. “About our age. With stretchy powers. His name is Offspring. Does he have a number-- _of course he has a number _\--does anyone have his number?” 

Cassie appeared to be venturing upon the fruitless endeavor of figuring out what to do with her hands.

“We’re just being really frank about our romantic lives, and.. I… uh…”

* * *

Above the stands, overlooking The House’s arena, there was a small enclosure about the size of a pressbox in a professional stadium.

Within this enclosure a tall woman and a short man stood.

The woman wore a clingy red dress. The slit in the dress revealing her right leg, as well as the window over the navel, showcased the long and ornate snake tattoo that stretched from her right ankle, up her midsection, and over her right shoulder.

Roulette took a sip of champagne from the glass in her hand, and looked at the fellow sharing the enclosure with her. 

His name was Hieronymus Shaw. He was from Texas, and every stereotype of a JR Ewing wannabe land baron held true for him.

Except his height. He was a tiny man, no bigger than five-five. Roulette had to fight the inner-urge to refer to him as _“Yosemite Sam” _ within her own interior monologue.

Hieronymus Shaw was the man from whom Roulette had purchased this Godforsaken stretch of Texas desert. Mister Shaw was a wily one with a brain underneath that ever-present white Stetson hat of his. He knew who Roulette was, and lowered the price on the sale in exchange for a cut of The House’s profits.

She went to the table near the television monitors, and refilled her glass.

“Are the bets in?”

Shaw stroked his bushy white moustache. “Yes’m. All in.”

“Good,” Roulette said. Her glass of champagne topped off, she picked the microphone off of the walnut desk in the center of the enclosure, and pressed a red button on the side.

On a large screen above the arena, the image of Roulette appeared, there in her red dress and glasses.

She looked out of the enclosure to the two-hundred or so people in the stands. All of them in finery, all of them in oval white masks.

They paid for the construction of this version of The House, after all. If you needed a rich clientele who delighted in both bloodshed and anonymity, Roulette didn’t think she could do any better than The Court of Owls.

“Are you ready for the first fight of the evening?” Roulette asked, her booming voice emanating from the speakers built into the screen.

And the two-hundred members of The Court of Owls roared and (in a pun Roulette didn’t wish to make to herself) hooted their pleasure.

“Tomorrow night is the Title Fight,” Roulette said. “But our number one contender needs a tune-up fight tonight. So I have to ask all of you a question… Who here wants to see a pretty teenage girl torn limb from limb?”

Thunderous applause from The Court of Owls. Maxine Hunkel would not be the first young lady who died in Roulette’s arena, but no matter how many times it happened, the crowd seemed to eat it up. Oh, if there were an academic on hand to write a paper on the phenomenon…

“Would you like to meet her?” Roulette asked.

Thunderous approval from the rich folks in the stands.

A spotlight shone on the red door just off the bloody, sandy floor that served as the arena grounds.

“From the red corner,” Roulette said, “straight from New York City, I give you… Maxine Hunkel!”

The red door opened. Poor, shivering Maxine Hunkel, flanked by two guards in body armor walked to the center of the arena.

“How ‘bout it, folks?” Roulette asked. “Power dampener on or off?”

A chant from the crowd. “ON! ON! ON!”

Well, that settled it. Without her wind powers, this poor little redheaded girl was going to die.

“Your wish is my command,” Roulette said.

The guards walked back through the red door, leaving Maxine Hunkel all on her lonesome.

The spotlight moved to the blue door on the other side of the arena.

“And her opponent,” Roulette said. “Our number one contender. Undefeated. Sixteen fights and sixteen dead bodies to his name. I give you… CINDERBLOCK!”

The blue door opened.

From within stepped a nine foot behemoth, seemingly made of jagged gray stone. Yellow eyes glowed from a thick, blocky head. His gray hands now seemingly permanently dyed brown with dried blood.

Every step that Cinderblock took seemed to shake the arena, and the roaring from the crowd reached a deafening pitch.

“Are… You… R--”

Roulette stopped.

Something was wrong.

Because Maxine Hunkel had stopped shivering.

She stood up straight, and levelled a lethal gaze upon Cinderblock.

Maxine Hunkel’s slender pale neck seemed to expand… and expand… until the collar that dampened her powers shattered, sending little bits of metal shrapnel into the sand at her feet.

As Roulette dropped her microphone, as the Court of Owls went silent, as Hieronymus Shaw glared into the arena, Maxine Hunkel’s shape shifted, warped, changed. The jeans and green t-shirt she had been wearing turned red. Her long red hair shrank, and turned black.

Plastic Man, who had been assuming the form of Maxine Hunkel, looked up at Cinderblock.

“Wow,” he said. “They build ‘em ugly where you come from, don’t they?” 

Cinderblock took one step forward.

“TIME OUT!” Plastic Man yelled.

And Cinderblock, apparently surprised by this as anyone else in attendance, stopped.

Plastic Man reached into his mouth… all the way down his throat… even past that, his arm vanishing into his mouth up to the shoulder.

Mild noises of disgust from the Court of Owls.

Until finally, Plastic Man came up with a small black box with a red button on it, coated in his own drool and stomach acid.

Plastic Man shook the thing dry, getting thick flecks of bodily detritus on the gray stone of Cinderblock.

Then he pressed the button.

“Time in,” Plastic Man said.

* * *

_Beeeeeeeeeeeeep… _

The signal in Robin’s utility belt was making noise.

“That’s it,” Tim said.

They all stood up, and those who had masks put them on.

Robin took the signal out of his belt, and input a few commands.

A blue holographic projection emitted from the end of the signal, and overlay itself on the dark expanse of Texas sand before them.

Bluebird peered at it. “That’s…”

“The House,” Robin said. “One-to-one scale.”

“It’s massive,” Empress said. “It must be half a mile in diameter.”

“What else is on there?” Jinny asked.

“Surveillance feeds,” Robin said. “Pictures, locations, everything. Plastic Man must have been down there undercover for _days _ mapping and documenting everything.”

“What have we got?” asked Wonder Girl.

Robin brought up a picture, revealing a crowd shot.

“Figures,” Robin said. “Now we know who paid for this damn thing. It’s the Court of Owls.”

“Who are the Court of Owls?” Bluebird asked.

“Think Illuminati, but just in Gotham City,” Robin said. “They gave Batman trouble in the old days, but now they just hold candlelit dinners in secluded locations and get slaughtered en masse when the _real _ bad guys show up.”

Robin shook his head. “I had no idea Gotham had so many rich, disposable assholes. Where do they all _come _ from? Anyway, Jinny? You’re on crowd duty. You see anyone in a white owl mask, I want them dropped, and when they wake up, I want it to be in the finest, most luxurious jail cells the great state of Texas has to offer.”

“I s’pose I can oblige,” said Jinny Hex.

“Impulse,” Robin said. “See that outer-ring there? That’s where Roulette is keeping her prisoners. When the shit hits the fan, she’s gonna let them all out to cause chaos. What I need you to do is put them back in and lock the doors to their cells behind them. Some of them are bad guys, but some of them are innocents that Roulette abducted. Be gentle, but firm.”

Impulse’s eyes twinkled behind his yellow goggles. “Gentle and firm like Batgirl is to Superboy! HEY-OHHHHHHHHH!”

Wonder Girl glared at Impulse, and said “Tampons.”

To which Impulse visibly shuddered.

“See that little room off the inner-ring?” Robin asked. “That’s apparently where the teleportation tech is being housed, and it’s under a mountain of security. Now if _only _ we had someone with teleportation powers who could bypass all that and get inside.”

Empress folded her arms. “Methinks my ears are burning.”

“Destroy it,” Robin said, “but don’t do too good a job. The League will want to analyze whatever’s left.”

“Got it,” Empress said.

“Me and Bluebird will apprehend Roulette ourselves,” said Robin. “That sound like fun, sweetie?”

Bluebird smirked. “I have the best date nights ever.”

“What about us?” Superboy asked.

Robin smiled. “Superboy? Wonder Girl?”

He pointed to the very center of the holographic projection of The House.

_“Make a hole…” _

* * *

**THOOOOOOOOOOOOM!**

The entire top of the arena was torn open, bringing sands and a few plants into the facility itself.

Superboy and Wonder Girl slowly descended to the arena below. A red and beige streak flew into the interior of The House as Jinny Hex, Empress, Bluebird and Robin descended from grappling hooks.

As Wonder Girl and Superboy floated down to the sands of the arena, they saw a gray rock monster, seemingly bound around the chest by a red and caucasian rubber band, and the gray rock monster was trying to shake it off..

“YOU ARE VERY ANGRY!” Plastic Man yelled to Cinderblock. “YOU NEED A HUG! JUST LET IT HAPPEN!”

Plastic Man’s head popped up from behind Cinderblock’s, and looked at the two of them. 

“You the backup?” Plastic Man asked.

“We are,” said Wonder Girl.

Plastic Man unspooled himself from around Cinderblock. “Good,” he said. “This guy’s boring. I’m gonna help round up the Court.”

“You’re not gonna stay here?” Superboy asked.

Plastic Man stretched both of his hands to the sides of the metal barricade that separated the arena from the stands.

“You guys’ll be fine,” Plastic Man said. “I believe in you. _Titans Together!” _

And with that, Plastic Man slingshotted himself into the stands, and started chasing after the rapidly retreating members of the Court of Owls.

Wonder Girl sighed. _ “We’re not the Teen Titans, you boner!” _

**WHAM!**

A horrific pain in the back of Wonder Girl’s head, and she was propelled a good fifteen feet, face first, into the metal barricade.

She dropped limply to the sand.

Cinderblock had punched her in the back of the head while she wasn’t looking.

And it hurt like a bastard. 

Wonder Girl got to all fours, and looked up.

As her vision unblurred, as she shook loose sand off the sleeves of her leather jacket, she saw Superboy let off a torrid blast of heat vision into Cinderblock’s chest.

* * *

Roulette and Shaw ran for the interior of the enclosure as soon as the ceiling of The House gave way.

Her heels clacked in the concrete hallway just off the arena. The place was filling up with members of the Court of Owls, and Hieronymus Shaw was trying to keep up with her.

“Who are they?” Shaw asked.

“No idea,” said Roulette. “I think I saw Robin, though.”

She ran a finger over her gold watch, and a holographic display appeared. She pressed one of the blue panels, which started glowing red.

“Whoever they are,” Roulette said, “I hope they know how to handle a bunch of scared, angry Metas.”

* * *

They knew how to handle a bunch of scared, angry Metas.

All of the cells in all of the cell blocks opened.

And all of the power dampeners on all of the prisoners deactivated. 

There was a roar of triumph. A vast sigh of relief. And all of the Metahumans started exiting their cells, the meek and the vicious, the innocent and the guilty alike.

However…

Someone stepped into the easternmost cell block for whom time seemed to be standing still.

One fellow, about six feet tall with a bunch of white supremacist tattoos on his biceps and lightning about to come out of his hands, had already stepped out of his cell.

And Impulse _geeeeeeeeeeeeently _ nudged him back inside so he didn’t break any of the guy’s bones. And _slowwwwwwwwwwwly _ closed the cell door so the bars didn’t bend from the speed.

_Robin doesn’t want me punching this guy, _ Impulse thought. Why _can’t I punch this guy? _

In all likelihood, Impulse thought that Robin wouldn’t have minded if he took a picosecond to lay out a Nazi, but he decided to stick to the letter of his orders. He didn’t want a lecture from Robin if he indulged himself.

Lectures took a long-ass time, after all.

And with this loathsome fellow safely back in his cell, it was onto the next one.

Impulse had been doing this for a handful of milliseconds.

And he was already bored.

So he disappeared into his thoughts as he did his work.

_We were at the beach… Everybody had matching towels… _

* * *

Superboy floated around the periphery of the angry Cinderblock.

But even that was too close.

Cinderblock reached out one jagged gray hand and caught Superboy by the collar of his shirt, and clocked him up into what remained of the ceiling with the other.

The gray thing threw down the black rag that used to be Superboy’s shirt, and leveled its yellow gaze upon Wonder Girl.

And Wonder Girl unravelled her Lightning Lasso from her blue skirt.

Superboy’s Heat Vision didn’t seem to work on this thing, and for all the punching they were doing, they were only doing minor chip damage.

Wonder Girl flung her lasso.

It wrapped around Cinderblock’s right arm.

And Wonder Girl concentrated.

The Lightning of Zeus spread throughout the Lasso, from Wonder Girl’s hands, all the way over to Cinderblock.

And Cinderblock… barely seemed to notice. He just looked from the blue volts of electricity encircling his arm, over to Wonder Girl herself.

“Aw, shit…”

Cinderblock flung the Lasso--and Wonder Girl along with it--into the steel barricade, denting it.

Then Cinderblock flung Wonder Girl up in the air and down into the sand…

**WHUMP!**

**WHUMP!**

**WHUMP!**

**WHUMP!**

**WHUMP!**

...as though she were a booger that he was trying desperately to fling off of his hand.

Finally, the Lasso unraveled enough from Cinderblock’s hand that she was flung free, onto the ground.

Everything hurt. 

There was sand in places that only her doctor should know about. The lining of her mouth had been shredded by her teeth when her head made contact with the arena floor. And her nose was broken.

She being an Amazon, all of that could heal in about fifteen minutes, though.

Provided she lived that long.

Wonder Girl spat some blood into the sand as she heard the thudding footsteps of Cinderblock coming toward her.

But it was at this point that Wonder Girl noticed it was getting cold.

_Really _ cold. Colder than a night in Texas should be.

Cinderblock was slowing down and developing a thin layer of frost.

Wonder Girl looked up.

Superboy, shirtless and bleeding from a cut above the eyebrow, descended from the rafters, letting his Freeze Breath do as much of a job as it could.

Wonder Girl looked up at the shirtless, sweaty, and dirty Conner Kent and, for the briefest of moments, let her thoughts run away with her.

_Well, shit. If this is how I go out, it was worth it. _

* * *

Roulette and Shaw had made it to the door of her office on the outer ring. They had to dodge tuxedoed and begowned Court of Owls members to get there, and Shaw was sweating and gasping, trying to keep up.

“Before we get out of here,” Roulette said, bringing up the holographic display on her gold watch, “we need to get to the teleport room, and… and…”

What she was looking at on her holographic display was a surveillance feed on the inside of the teleportation room. Server towers surrounding a gigantic battery and the diritium circuit that ran everything.

But the room wasn’t empty.

Standing next to the circuit was a young woman in bronze armor and a bronze helmet with a long tail of black and purple hair coming out of the back. There were swords on the back of her armor, and she seemed to be looking at the diritium circuit with no small amount of interest.

Then Empress unsheathed one of the swords from her back and jammed it into the circuit. The tall, circular bit of machinery showered sparks and plumed smoke, before Empress vanished from the feed, teleporting out under her own power.

Roulette shut off the holographic display, and wiped a strand of her own red hair out of her eye.

“Well?” Shaw asked.

“We’re boned,” Roulette said. “Now we take the money and run.”

Roulette opened the door to her office.

But her office, much like the teleportation room, was not empty.

A young man with black hair was standing in front of her desk. He was wearing red and black armor. His black cape had a yellow lining.

The girl sitting behind Roulette’s desk wore a black and blue leather jacket over a black breastplate. She had piercings in her face She was rooting through the booze Roulette kept in the drawer.

And they were both wearing masks.

Bluebird held up a bottle of Jagermeister.

“Are you a supervillain?” she asked. “Or are you a frat girl? Someone as rich as you should have better taste in booze.”

“You know the speech about the easy way and the hard way?” Robin asked. “Say it to yourselves. This’ll go quicker.”

“I don’t have to outrun the two of you,” Roulette said, before pulling a two-shot derringer out of the small belt around her right thigh.

“I just have to outrun _him.” _

And with that, Roulette shot Hieronymus Shaw in the left kneecap. Bluebird and Robin jumped as the Texan went down in a flurry of blood and swearing.

“And you two,” Roulette said, “have to outrun The Champ.”

She pressed the red button on the side of the doorway, before she left the way she came, running as fast as her red high heels could carry her.

* * *

A series of loud **Thunks!** sounded from the large metal vault door on the right side of Roulette’s office.

It was opening.

Whatever was inside was clawing, punching at the door, trying to get out.

Bluebird got up from Roulette’s desk, and both she and Robin instinctively backed up.

Until finally the massive vault door opened…

...and a broad, scaly hand emerged.

“No,” Robin said. “It can’t be.”

“It can’t be what?” Bluebird asked.

The door opened the rest of the way… and eleven feet of muscle, claws, teeth and green scales came forth.

Robin and Bluebird stood before the might and the fury of the long-missing and presumed-dead Waylon Jones.

Killer Croc.

Robin turned to Bluebird.

“RUN!”

And Killer Croc _ roared… _

* * *

Well that was the thing about supervillain lairs, wasn’t it? No OSHA compliance at all.

The House was a fire hazard, to be completely honest.

There was only one tunnel entrance to the arena itself, and indeed there was only one exit from The House, taking the form of a tunnel and a ramp that led to an exit door on the surface of the Texas desert, hidden by holographic tech. Bettors and spectators were either driven there, or arrived by helicopter.

And now the fleeing, panicking members of the Court of Owls (along with a healthy portion of the guards, who knew the party was over the moment Robin, Wonder Girl and Superboy descended from a hole in the ceiling _that they made), _ made their way to that one, sole exit.

Someone was waiting for them, though.

She was a scrawny young lady, not a day over eighteen. She wore a tan longcoat, and her red hair was in a ponytail beneath a beat-up cowboy hat.

And in her hands, she held two bright red pistols, looking like they came out of an old _Flash Gordon _ serial, or an _Earthworm Jim _ video game.

She leveled those pistols at the oncoming horde of finery-clad runners, and opened fire.

From the golden pins on the ends of those red pistols emerged bright ropes of electricity.

They took down the front row of Owls, and they dropped. A little on the smoky side, but still very much alive.

The rest of the Court skidded to a halt.

“Now then,” Jinny Hex said. “Y’all better know now: this ain’t a battle between the Court-a Owls and Jinny Hex. Nossir.”

She stared the remaining front row down, before she spoke again.

“This is a battle between the Court-a Owls and Jinny Hex’s LAST GOOD GOT-DAMN NERVE! Now if’n any y’all are feeling strong ‘n’ forceful, step up and I’ll make you the kinda Extra Crispy the Colonel hisself would envy. Any takers?”

One of the Court, a tall fellow that Jinny imagined must have been on the middle-aged side, turned and looked at the throng behind him.

“SHE CAN’T TAKE ALL OF US!”

_Shitfire… _

Before Jinny could panic, however, someone made their entrance. And this someone could, in fact, take them all.

A red and beige blur whipped in front of the vanguard of Court members, and the punches whacking them into unconsciousness were so fast that they barely made a sound.

The red and beige blur then doubled back, and made a stop just to Jinny’s left.

“Need help?” Impulse asked.

“Git ta punchin’, ya ijit!”

“NONE OF THOSE WERE ACTUAL WORDS!”

Impulse made his way back into the fray with a blinding speed as Jinny started dispatching guards and Owls with her electro-pistols. A couple of rows deep, and she saw that someone else had joined the melee.

Empress, who had apparently gotten her job done, was putting down enemy forces with blistering punches and acrobatic spin-kicks.

Anita Fite was a master martial artist who not only had limited teleportation powers, but limited mind-control capabilities.

Which went a way towards explaining why three Court members were fighting alongside her.

Amidst the cacophony of punched faces and frightened yelping, Jinny Hex heard the unmistakable sound of whip-cracks coming from her left.

“Back! Back, you heathens! BACK, I SAY!”

It was Plastic Man. He had transformed his right forearm into a bullwhip, and was cracking on Owls left and right like the crazy person that Jinny more and more thought that he was.

“You ain’t helpin’ Superboy and Wonder Girl?” Jinny asked him.

“They’ll be fine,” Plastic Man said. “When I signaled Robin, I alerted the JSA. A couple of members worth of backup should be coming any minute.”

Plastic Man stopped his cracking for a second to look at Jinny.

“What’s with the pistols?” he asked. “Putting down rich people, and you’re using _guns. _ By God, girl, LIVE A LITTLE!”

Jinny looked down at her electro-pistols.

_If’n he’s right, he’s right… _

She holstered them beneath her duster. She saw a female Owl in a red cocktail dress and a mink stole.

Jinny grabbed her shoulder with her left hand, and knocked her block off with her right.

And as this unfortunate soul’s Owl mask shattered, Jinny had to wonder just who the JSA backup was.

* * *

That one exit, however, was not the only one that The House had.

The second one was just for Roulette’s personal use.

Just down the hall from her office, it was a tunnel about eight feet in diameter that led to a small door that opened on the surface.

Roulette emerged into the Texas night, the artificially aged steel door clanging on the ground.

She hadn’t even had the time to wipe the dust off of her shoulders before she heard something.

“Evenin’, miss.”

Roulette looked up.

Standing next to an expensive-looking motorcycle was a very tall man in a large white Stetson hat. His blue eyes were warm and inviting. Roulette would have bet that this man would be handsome beneath the red bandana covering everything below the eyes. And Roulette did not make sucker bets.

Blue shirt, white chaps over jeans, and six-shooters on each hip.

“Holy shit,” Roulette said. “It’s Buster Scruggs.”

“Wasn’t a fan of that movie m’self,” he said. “Name’s Vigilante. And I’m here in my capacity as a member of the Justice Society of America.”

Vigilante took a step toward her, and that tell tale sound told Roulette that this guy was shitkicker to the bone. He was wearing _spurs. _

“Now,” Vigilante said, “you’ve taken a fair few people ain’t belong to you. Most notably a young redheaded gal name-a Maxine. Couldn’t rightly call myself a hero if’n I didn’t do anything about that, now could I?”

Roulette sneered at him. “When I find myself in situations like this, I usually try to seduce my way out.”

Vigilante shrugged. “Certainly welcome to try. Free country, ‘n’ all that. But t’wouldn’t be sportin’ if I didn’t tell ya upfront that you’d fail. The ol’ Vigilante’s spoken for. By a pretty blonde girl with blue eyes that’re outta this world… In the literal _and _ figure-tive sense, come ta think.”

Roulette remembered the two-shot derringer in the belt on her right thigh.

The one that still had one shot left in it.

Her right hand was right next to her right thigh. Vigilante’s arms, meanwhile, were folded on his chest, far away from his guns.

Vigilante, however, seemed to know what she was thinking.

“I see your eyes done wondered on down to my shootin’ irons,” he said. “Colt Peacemakers gussied up to fire non-lethal amm’nition. Most folks in my line-a work would go straight fer ‘lectric rounds, but Mister Terrific gave me somethin’ awful nice. Goes to work on the pulmonary system, it does. Slows down the heart to the point they drift off inta unconsciousness. Painless, ‘n’ works in ‘bout five seconds. Course there’s a little pinch in the beginnin’, lettin’ the unlucky party know they been hit.”

Roulette stared at Vigilante unblinkingly. “It wouldn’t be a Western without a quick-draw contest.”

“Naw, miss,” Vigilante said. “Don’t s’pose it would.”

Roulette went for it…

...and her hand hadn’t even jerked before Vigilante reached down, got one of his guns, and fired.

And there was that pinch.

The round got her in the chest, and she dropped to her knees, and fell all the way over into the sand.

She was paralyzed, powerless to do anything except look up and stare.

“Awful shame, that,” Vigilante said. “I don’t even like swearin’ in front-a ladies, let alone dischargin’ my firearm inta one.”

The sound of spurs coming toward her.

“But then again,” Vigilante said, “forcin’ innocent folk to fight to the death for profit somewhat muddies your status as a lady, now don’t it?.”

Vigilante was in her field of vision, now. He looked up.

“Well,” he said, “to paraphrase a song I heard on the radio not too far back: _‘I need justice in my life…’” _

Above the two of them, in the Texas sky, there was a massive **BOOM! ** Roulette had been around Metahumans long enough to know that that was the sound barrier being broken.

And before she lapsed into unconsciousness, Roulette could have sworn that Vigilante was smiling beneath that bandana as he looked up.

_“‘...Here she comes.’” _

* * *

_CRACK! _

Cinderblock had the heads of Wonder Girl and Superboy in each hand.

_CRACK! _

And he was ramming them together like a bratty six-year-old crashing his toy trucks.

_CRACK! _

Even through the excruciating pain, when she thought about locking lips with Conner Kent, this wasn’t precisely what Wonder Girl had in mind.

_CRACK! _

His face was a bloody mess. Being that Kryptonians had a habit of being more durable than Amazons on the whole, she thought her own face must have been faring worse.

_CRACK! _

Finally, bored, Cinderblock flung Wonder Girl and Superboy to his left and to his right. Wonder Girl landed in a heap, and she could feel the blood leaking out of her mouth and her nose.

The rumble of plodding footsteps came toward her, and Wonder Girl at least got to all fours.

**BOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!**

The sound barrier broke above them.

And something hit the ground of the arena so hard that it knocked Superboy, Wonder Girl, and even Cinderblock back.

Wonder Girl, tried to get to her feet, but stumbled and fell. She cleared the sand out of her eyes, and looked up.

There was a brown, translucent orb in the middle of the arena.

Whatever had hit the sand, hit it so hard that it superheated and snap-froze to glass in an instant.

Cinderblock was apparently capable of curiosity, as he trundled up to this glass globe, trying to peer inside.

A blue-gloved hand on a white-clad arm shattered the glass orb, and hit Cinderblock so hard that he flew into the barricade on the other side of the arena, denting it.

Wonder Girl covered her head as the rest of the globe shattered.

She waited a second, and ventured a glance.

There, standing in the remains of the glass globe, was Power Girl. She brushed some stray glass off her shoulders, off of her red shoulder cape, and off of, well, the generous and visible cleavage that had made her as much of a name as her superheroics, much to Power Girl’s frustration.

Superboy was already on his feet.

Power Girl looked Superboy up and down.

“Where’s your shirt?”

Superboy looked Power Girl up and down.

“Where’s _yours?” _

“Yeah,” Power Girl said. “I walked into that one.” 

The grinding noise of stone against stone as Cinderblock struggled to his feet.

“Oh,” Power Girl said. “You’re fighting Cinderblock.”

“Know anything about him?” Wonder Girl asked.

“I know you can’t really kill him,” Power Girl said. “You shatter him into little pieces, and he’ll just reform later. Restraint’s nice and all, but you really can tee off on this guy.”

Wonder Girl was back on her feet again. She bared bloody brown teeth.

“Good to know.”

* * *

Robin and Bluebird jumped over the wounded Hieronymus Shaw as they ran out of Roulette’s office.

So did Killer Croc. He liked his prey running.

Their footsteps echoed in the concrete hallway as Croc bounded after them.

They had a good lead…

...until Croc leapt toward them.

The impact on the floor was so violent that both Robin and Bluebird tripped, and skidded a few feet.

Robin got up. He had his hands on his utility belt, ready to unleash some explosive shurikens, when Croc’s tail hit him in the stomach, knocking him into the wall so hard that he heard the concrete crack.

He didn’t black out, but he certainly _ grayed _out. All he could hear from his heap on the floor was Bluebird yelling “ROBIN!” in panic.

Robin got to his knees in time to see Croc pin Bluebird down with one massive scaly foot upon her stomach. She groaned in pain with whatever little wind was left to her as Croc’s mouth got closer… and wider… his soulless yellow eyes narrowing...

...and Bluebird got her taser pistols from their holsters in her jacket, and fired three rounds into Killer Croc’s open, wet, foul-smelling maw.

Croc thundered in pain, taking his foot off of Bluebird’s chest, giving her enough time to almost crab-walk back on the floor.

But Killer Croc was eleven feet of anger, hunger, muscle and scales. All three taser rounds did was piss him off. 

Croc let his breath out through his green snout and took one step forward…

...when a thick, heavy black glove bounced off his head.

“HEY, JERK!”

Croc reared around to look behind him.

There was a guard.

A rather short, slim guard whose armor did not fit them very well.

The guard took off their helmet to reveal a pale freckled face, and long red hair.

It was Maxine Hunkel.

And she did not appear to be scared.

“Go!” Robin said. “RUN!”

Killer Croc roared, and started bounding after Maxine on all fours like the animal he technically was.

And Maxine… started levitating.

She raised her hands, and Robin felt a draft. A big one. And Robin remembered that this wasn’t just Maxine Hunkel of New York. 

This was Cyclone of the JSA.

Cyclone raised her hands, and the air in front of them began to shimmer.

Killer Croc slowed down, and almost started barking, looking around him in confusion.

Robin could see that Croc was slowly being lifted off his feet.

He went up.. and up… until he was at the ceiling, and then Cyclone changed up her stance and let an even stronger gust of wind keep him up there.

As Bluebird crawled across the floor to get next to him, Robin could see that Killer Croc was being pressed into the concrete ceiling. So hard that the concrete was denting. Cyclone was squashing him like a bug and ripping the air out of his lungs at the same time.

He looked at Croc, saw that his chest was rising and falling slower and slower, that his eyes were shut, and wagered that he would be unconscious right… about… _now! _

“I THINK YOU’RE GOOD!” Robin yelled through the upward hurricane force winds.

Cyclone dropped her hands.

And the unconscious Killer Croc fell from the ceiling and onto the floor with a mammoth **PLOP!**

Silence.

Robin looked at Bluebird.

She had this expression on her face. Like she was going to say something cool and clever to minimize the danger in which they’d just been like she always did. One of the benefits of having a girlfriend who was so much cooler than he was.

Her mouth was open.

And Robin leaned over and kissed her as strongly and as deeply as he dared without scandalizing the other person in the hallway.

The kiss broke, and he saw that Bluebird’s cheeks were flushed. One eye behind her mask was open just a little bit more than the other.

And she was at a loss for words.

“Uhhhhhhhhh… W-What was that for?”

Three little words. They just flitted across his brain, along with the realization that just saying them would freak her right the hell out.

“Just seemed like the right thing to do in the moment,” he said.

“I mean it _was,” _ said Bluebird, “but I forgot what I was gonna say.”

“It’ll come back to you.”

They both got to their feet and walked toward Maxine, who was still looking at the unconscious Killer Croc.

“Where’d you get the guard outfit?” Bluebird asked.

“Plastic Man gave it to me,” Maxine said. “He knocked a guard out. Said I needed the disguise more than he did.”

She looked at Robin.

“I remember you,” Maxine said. “Tim...something. You asked me to dance at Batman’s wedding… I said no.”

Robin didn’t even have time to be embarrassed, before Bluebird busted out with “HA! You missed out _ bad!” _

“Are you okay, though?” Robin asked, desperate to change the subject.

Maxine dreamily looked between the two of them, yet again at the unconscious Killer Croc, before a broad smile broke out across her face.

“I beat The Champ!” she said.

* * *

Wonder Girl rolled up the sleeves of her brown leather jacket, revealing the metal Amazon vambraces around her wrists.

She flew up into Cinderblock’s face, and brought them together.

WHAM!

The shockwave sent Cinderblock reeling.

Power Girl flew overhead, and tagged Cinderblock with her fist, causing him to stagger.

And Superboy drove his shoulder into Cinderblock’s right knee so hard that the impact could have shattered glass a block away

Now with Cinderblock on all fours, Wonder Girl flew to his back, unravelled her Lightning Lasso, and wrapped it around his neck.

She flew backward and up as the blur electricity crackled. She was strong enough to lift Cinderblock off his feet, but it wasn’t as though he were going to choke.

Superboy and Power Girl flew to each of Cinderblock’s shoulders, and started pulling him back down to Earth. Wonder Girl engaged in a vertical tug of war with two Kryptonians until...

**_CRRRRAAAAAAAAAACK!_ **

Cinderblock’s head finally gave way. It landed in the stands while the rest of his body crumbled into loose gray gravel.

Wonder Girl, Superboy, and Power Girl righted themselves in the air, before slowly coming back down to the bloody sand and broken glass of the arena.

They just stared at what was left of Cinderblock for a while, before Power Girl opted to speak.

“You two okay?” Power Girl asked.

“Yeah,” said Superboy.

Wonder Girl wiped some of the blood off of her swollen face. “I’ll live.”

“Good,” Power Girl said. “First thing’s first. Conner, we need to get you a shirt.”

Wonder Girl’s face fell. She knew the one good thing about tonight was too good to last, but still…

* * *

Robin, Bluebird, and Maxine saw to Jinny, Impulse, Empress, and Plastic Man in a hallway adjacent to the arena. The members of the Court of Owls and The House’s security detail that weren’t unconscious were on the ground with their hands behind their heads.

As soon as they entered the arena, Maxine’s face lit up.

“PEEGEE!”

Maxine quite literally flew from the entrance into the arms of Power Girl down there on the arena floor.

“Hey, kiddo,” Power Girl said. “Mind the sand. There’s glass down there. You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“How’d they get you?” Power Girl asked. “How’d it happen?”

“Well,” Maxine said, “I was walking to the Brownstone, listening to _Wicked _ on my phone like I always do…”

“Wait,” Wonder Girl said. Her face was still swollen, but she had apparently wiped whatever blood was left on her shirt. _ “Wicked?” _

“Yeah,” said Maxine.

“The musical?”

“Yeah.”

A gasp, loud enough and deep enough to be near-indistinguishable from a shriek, sounded from Wonder Girl’s mouth.

“I love _Wicked!” _

Yet another gasp, almost identical to the one previous, came from Maxine.

“ME TOO!”

So it came to pass that Robin’s evening in The House came to an end with a most unlikely sight.

That of Wonder Girl singing.

_“Elphaba, why couldn’t you have stayed calm for once…” _

One might ask whether or not Maxine would join in singing.

One might also be an idiot for asking such an obvious question.

_“...Instead of flying off the handle.” _

Robin took a moment to reflect that it was nice that, in an evening that saw Cassandra Sandsmark’s romantic aspirations toward (the strangely shirtless at present) Conner Kent wither away into nothing, she at the very least found a new and immediate friend in Maxine Hunkel.

But dear God…

Dear God, they just kept _ singing… _

_“I hope you’re happy…” _

_“I hope you’re happy too..” _

_“I hope you’re proud how you…” _

_“Would grovel in submission…” _

No.

No, the cost was too high.

Robin, Bluebird, Superboy, and Power Girl stared at the spectacle of two kind and good-hearted teenage girls expressing their joy, happiness, and newfound friendship through song with complete horror and utter disgust.

* * *

The Texas State Police arrived on the scene not long after.

And they were beginning their second hour of getting guards and members of the Court of Owls out of the underground structure.

They even brought out both SWAT _and _ the bomb squad for Killer Croc alone.

And pity the poor fools on Cinderblock detail. They didn’t even get to use the cool construction equipment. It was just broom and dustpan duty, what with the state he was in.

Amidst the throng of police, criminal detainees, and media, Power Girl took the time to look in the rear window of a police van.

Roulette was in the back.

Power Girl waved, knowing full well that Roulette was handcuffed and couldn’t wave back.

She settled for a glare instead.

Smirking, Power Girl looked around and saw, over about twenty yards away, apart from the hoi polloi, the silhouette of a cowboy leaning against a motorcycle.

And that smirk on Power Girl’s face turned into a smile.

She slowly walked over to Vigilante. He seemed to see her without looking.

“Rough night?” he asked.

“Surprisingly no,” Power Girl said. “Cinderblock didn’t even lay a hand on me.”

“That’s my girl.”

“Either way, it’s better now.”

Vigilante looked down. “Well, shucks.”

She liked embarrassing him like that.

“I’ve read up on Roulette,” Power Girl said. “She seems to like seducing her way out of tight situations. Like a broke-ass Catwoman.”

“I do recall,” Vigilante said, “that she bought up such a prospect.”

“Tempted?” Power Girl asked.

Vigilante finally looked at Power Girl. And those eyes beneath that white hat and above that red bandana seemed a little sad.

“Breaks the heart, a purty girl like you lookin’ in the mirror ever’ day and thinkin’ I’d have any answer to that question other’n _‘no.’” _

Power Girl looked down at the ground, and lightly kicked some sand.

“Shucks,” she said.

He liked embarrassing her like that.

“Which way’s the Rio Grande?’ Power Girl asked.

Vigilante looked up at the stars, before looking out into the desert and pointing ahead of him.

“Yonder,” he said.

“How far?”

“A ways.”

“Fancy a drive?”

“Y’know,” Vigilante said, “I just might.”

He got on the bike, turned it over, and revved the engine.

Power Girl sat on the back behind him. She pressed her chest into his back as she hugged his waist. She kissed the tan cheekbone above his bandana, before she spoke in his ear.

“Drive slow, cowboy.”

* * *

Robin and Bluebird were talking to Plastic Man a ways away from everyone else.

“You need a ride back?” Robin asked. “We have a van?”

“A _van?” _ Plastic Man asked. “You _clearly _ don’t know that Eel O’Brian only rides in _style.” _

Plastic Man stuck his thumb in his mouth, and started blowing.

He started inflating like a balloon, so much so that Robin and Bluebird had to step back.

Plastic Man bounced twenty… thirty… fifty feet into the air before letting all the air out of himself with a loud fart noise. Only then did he instantly convert himself into a hang glider, and start sailing away.

Yelling _“STYYYYYYYYYYYYYLE!” _

Bluebird sighed next to Robin. “Huntress is _ screwing _ that.”

“Yeah,” Robin said. “I know.”

They started walking back to the crowd.

“What was that kiss about?” Bluebird asked.

“Could you be more specific?”

“You know damn well,” Bluebird said. “The one after the fight with Croc.”

Robin stopped walking.

“An attempt to communicate with you in a way you’re comfortable with.”

It was dark. He couldn’t see the look on Bluebird’s face.

But she put her arm around Robin’s waist behind his cape, and put her head on his shoulder as they walked back to the crowd.

The rest of the kids were on the edge of everything. Impulse, Superboy, Empress, and Jinny Hex. Wonder Girl and Maxine were talking animatedly among themselves.

Superboy had liberated a jacket from an Owl about his size, and was wearing it in lieu of a shirt.

“Look at him,” Bluebird said. “Rocking the jacket with no shirt like he’s from the early nineties.”

“Alright,” Superboy said to Impulse. “We fought Cinderblock.”

“Okay.”

“A supervillain made of stone.”

“Gotcha.”

“So you’re telling me that in light of that information, you have no jokes to make?”

“Nope.”

“No bastardized versions of old B-52s songs you want to sing right now?”

“What?” Impulse asked. “You doing okay?”

Superboy apparently wanted to say something, but gave up midway through.

Jinny tapped Impulse on the shoulder.

“You wouldn’t mind takin’ me home, would ya?” Jinny asked. “I live in this state. Ain’t too far, relatively speakin’.”

“Me too,” Empress said. “I mean, y’know, not in Texas, but yeah.”

Impulse looked up for a second, as though he were doing math in his head.

“Sure,” he said. “Ready?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. That very instant, the three of them were gone in a red and beige blur.

Superboy looked at Robin and Bluebird as though he were going to say something, but something caught his eye.

“Hey!” Superboy called out. “Stop!”

Superboy walked past them.

A few feet away, paramedics were about to load Hieronymus Shaw into the back of a van.

Superboy stopped right next to the gurney, touched the top of Shaw’s head, and then used his other hand to lightly touch the sole of Shaw’s left shoe.

If Robin didn’t know any better, he’d have thought that Superboy was measuring Shaw’s height.

Superboy plucked the white cowboy hat off of Shaw’s head, and smiled.

“I know a very pretty girl in Gotham City who would like this a lot,” Superboy said. “I’m keeping it. Thank you. Enjoy prison.”

Superboy walked away from the very confused Hieronymus Shaw as he was being loaded into the back of the ambulance.

“If Oracle’s still at the Clock Tower,” Superboy said, “do you think she’d let me use one of the showers? Y’know, ‘cause of the blood and everything?”

“Smallville is on the way to Gotham,” Robin said. “You can shower at _your _ place… and grab a _shirt, _ for Christ’s sake.”

Superboy shook his head. “Flying after a shower will mess up my hair, though.”

Robin just gave up. “Sure,” he said. “Why not? Babs’ll piss herself, she’ll be so happy to see you.”

“Cool,” Superboy said. “You’re a real one, Rob.”

“Yeah,” Robin said. “See you around, brother.”

As Superboy lifted off with a cowboy hat earmarked for special delivery to Cassandra Cain, he had to wonder whether Conner knew he was joking or not.

He looked down to see Cassie and Maxine speaking to each other quietly, and with great dynamism.

“Need a lift to the airport?” Bluebird asked.

Cassie looked over at them. There was still some dried blood on her shirt and in her hair, but other than that, she was completely healed. No cuts and no swelling.

“We’re good,” Cassie said. “Maxine and I are gonna fly to Austin and get something to eat. You know she’s seen _Hadestown?” _

“I can get you tickets!” Maxine said, as though her portrait were being taken that very moment for the dictionary definition of _“chipper.” _

Cassie beamed. _ “She _ can get me _tickets! _”

“Don’t hit any airplanes on the way to Austin,” Bluebird said.

Cassie and Maxine didn’t appear to hear them. They didn’t even bother saying goodbye. They just lifted off into the air.

“I don’t know if you’ve heard,” Bluebird said, “but I’m fairly certain Cyclone can get Wonder Girl to _Hadestown.” _

Robin wallpapered a look of counterfeit shock onto his face. _ “Really?” _

“Oh, indeed.”

“I’ve heard the rumor.”

“My sewing circle told _me.” _

_“Oh, _such _scamps _they are!”

They both smiled, not looking at each other, or anything in particular.

“I guess it’s just you and me taking the van back to the airport,” Robin said.

* * *

The first leg of Tim Drake and Harper Row’s journey to bring the white Chevy van back to the airport began in silence.

Tim kept his eyes on the expanse of desert before him, lit only by the moon and the headlights.

But every once in a while… if he was quick… he caught Harper looking at him from the passenger’s seat.

It was the third time before he finally caught her, but her face was lit only by the low blue of the van’s dashboard. He couldn’t tell what she was thinking.

“What?” Tim asked.

Harper took a deep breath.

“I…”

Then she stopped. She folded her arms the way she always did when her thoughts needed further compilation.

“Take your time,” Tim said. “I’m not gonna get up and walk out, or anything.”

Harper took a deep breath, and let it out.

“There’s something I want to say to you,” Harper said.

“Okay.”

“But I’m trying to figure out a way to say it.”

Tim nodded, not saying anything.

“There isn’t a _cool _ way to say it,” Harper said. “No way that allows me to save face. If I had a professional writing the things I say, that professional would fail, no matter who they were.”

“Alright.”

“And there’s no genuine, sincere way to say it either,” Harper said. “I’m… I’m not good with mushy shit, I’m really not.”

Tim didn’t want to make any assumptions, so he just said “Uh-huh.”

“So I’m just gonna come out and say it.”

“Come out and say what?”

Harper took another deep breath, closed her eyes, and said:

“If you stop the car, we can go in the back, and I’ll take that pesky virginity off your hands for you.”

Tim swerved.

Poor bastard almost hit a cactus.

_“Jesus Christ, Harper!” _

“Calm down.”

“I mean…”

“You’ll find your chill if you look, trust me.”

Tim could actually feel flop-sweat forming. He knew that Harper Row was the kind of person who said whatever was on her mind, but he did not expect _this _ to be on her mind.

He was expecting… something else. Hope against hope.

“Do me a favor,” Harper said. “Hold your hand above the steering wheel.”

“What? Why?”

“Just do it.”

Tim held his right hand flat over the steering wheel. He saw, and felt, a slight tremor.

“See that shake?” Harper asked. “Know what that is?”

“Yeah,” Tim said. “Adrenaline. We were almost eaten by a crocodile man ninety minutes ago and we haven’t come down yet.”

“Right,” Harper said, before she held out her own hand. “And I have it too. See?”

Tim looked.

Sure enough…

“And because we’re both coming down,” Harper said, “I know what you’re gonna do when you get back to Gotham City. I know it because I’m gonna do the same thing.”

Tim was almost terrified to ask.

“What?”

“Masturbate _ furiously,” _ Harper said.

“Jesus,” said Tim.

“I’m gonna click on my mouse like the internet is slow,” Harper said. “You turn me down, the next time you see me in Wayne Manor, I’m gonna have a cast on my arm because I gave myself carpal tunnel.”

_“Christ!” _

“What, like you _don’t _ just beat off like a fiend when you get a free minute after we make out?”

“I mean…”

“I thought I was dating a horny eighteen-year-old boy,” Harper said, “when it turns out I’ve been dating a _ unicorn _ this whole time.”

Tim closed his eyes… and immediately opened them again because he was driving.

He shepherded his wayward thoughts into a line.

“Okay,” Tim said trying to focus. “Even if I wanted to take you up on… yeah… I don’t have protection.”

Harper reached into her leather jacket and threw something onto the dashboard. It sounded light, and Tim chanced a glance.

It was too dark to see the brand, but he knew a strip of condoms when he saw its silhouette.

“And how long have you been carrying those around?” Tim asked.

“Since I knew you’d never carry them yourself.”

Tim’s reply was stillborn in his mouth, because he didn’t know what to make of that last bit.

“Is… that… a… crack about how I’m irresponsible?” he asked.

“No,” Harper said, “it’s because you making a move? _The _ move? It would interfere with The Narrative.”

“What’s The Narrative?” Tim asked.

Harper rubbed her face. “The Narrative. You’re Robin. Superhero. Defender of Gotham City. Leader of Young Justice. And you take it all in such a serious, po’ faced way, that you _genuinely do expect _ that you’ll die saving nuns and orphans before you ever have sex with any girl, let alone me. You have this image of a finish line as giving your life for the lives of others, and you see enjoying yourself in a healthy, normal way as selfish. You’ll get to third base, Tim, you’ll live there for a while. But thinking about home plate makes you feel like less of a hero.”

Tim opened his mouth, and closed it.

_How the hell did she know about The Narrative? _

“Okay,” Tim said. “Even if I do subscribe to The Narrative, you do know The Narrative isn’t permanent, right? I’m retiring in January. I won’t be Robin anymore.”

“You still trying to be Tim Drake PI?”

“Is there something wrong with Tim Drake PI?”

“No,” Harper said. “It’s great. It really does suit you.”

“Is there something wrong with waiting until it’s a little more special before I take your virginity?” Tim asked. “Is there something wrong with not wanting to have sex with you in the back of a dirty van in the middle of nowhere?”

Harper sighed. “There is a _whoooooooole _ host of things wrong with what you just said. But before I correct them one by one, I need you to know one thing.”

“What’s that?” Tim asked.

“There’s a difference,” Harper said, “between wanting you to do something with me that I know for a _fact _ you want to do, and pressuring you into doing something you _ don’t _ want to do. Let me make my case, alright? After that, if you still say no, then I’ll drop it. There’ll be no hard feelings at all. I’ll let you walk me back up to my apartment once we get to Gotham, and you can kiss me on the cheek like we’re on _ Downton Abbey, _ okay?”

“Okay,” said Tim.

“Good,” Harper said. “Now… You will not be taking my virginity. I will be taking yours.”

Tim shot her a glance. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Harper said. “You’re about eight months late. That a problem?”

“No,” said Tim. “I’m not gonna get all pissy about a pretty girl having fun.”

Harper’s mouth was open, and a jet of laughter came out. “Goddammit, now I have to get my train of thought back.”

A moment of silence as she composed herself.

“You’re retiring in January?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“Well… I’m not.”

After that, Harper didn’t say anything for awhile.

“I got into this costume to protect Bleake Island,” Harper finally said. “But I’ve been everywhere since then. I fought the army of a Goddess, I’ve been all around the country, I was up in space at the Watchtower for Aquaman’s wake. Shit, I’m in Texas _now. _ This is a whole...complicated… _thing. _ People need help, and not just on Bleake. I’m gonna help ‘em, in costume or out. But right about now, _in _ costume’s looking the most likely.”

Harper finally looked at him. “You keep waiting for special, Tim, and it’s never gonna get here. What you need to do is try and find something special about where you are _right now, _ and carry that with you. I mean, I’m out here, ass-end of nowhere, dark all around us, with the guy I…”

She stopped. Tim looked over at her again.

Harper was staring at her lap.

“Y’know… the… the guy I like a whole lot.”

Tim let that marinate. Let it seep into the porous material of his mind.

Harper Row was… _something. _

He knew, vaguely yet certainly, that she had something that she wished to express. Something that she wanted to communicate. But she was more comfortable with some forms of expression than others.

Verbally, this was as far as she was willing to go. For now, anyway.

Tim had to ask himself if this was enough.

And he felt a great and inviting warmth within himself when he realized it was.

“Besides,” Harper said after a great calm. “Define _‘special.’ _ I look around, you know what I see?”

“What?” Tim asked.

“I see us in a van going east. Which means, in a few hours, the sun will be shining through this windshield.”

Tim felt a hand on his right thigh, atop his Robin armor.

He looked at her.

The dim blue light of the dashboard gleamed off the piercings on her lip, and on her nose. And her blue eyes beneath that scriff of unruly blue hair were gleaming, urgent oases. Filled with invitation from the girl he...

...y’know…

...liked a whole lot. 

“Don’t you want to watch the sunrise with me?” Harper asked.

Tim looked back at the desert through the windshield. Logic and rationale were hiding from him, the cowardly sons of bitches.

There was that final barrier, though.

“Going once,” Harper said.

Was he reticent about this because he subscribed to The Narrative, which made him seem nobler than he was? Or was he hesitating because he really didn’t want to do this at all?

He couldn’t make a list of pros and cons. Not like this. Tim Drake found that he had to listen to himself. For the low keen and the thick silence within his emotions.

Did he want to do this?

And Tim found that the answer, the _real _ answer…

“Going twice.”

...was yes.

Tim slowly put his foot down on the brake pedal and put that ugly Chevy van in park before he killed the engine.

He looked at her, smile spreading across his face as though someone had spilled it.

“Sold,” he said.

Harper Row took it upon herself to turn off the van’s headlights.

* * *

** _TO BE CONTINUED_ **


End file.
